A few weeks ago, Ms. Mwanza the head teacher of our school, gave her 7th grade students an assignment to write about themselves. She had done this with several classes before and decided it was worth repeating. She show me a few of them. She thought it would be nice to have they typed out. Since the school is without a computer o any kind, I volunteered to do it in the evenings at the Chishawasha business office (and my Zambian home). After reading just one of them, I asked for permission to use them on my blog.
The first student's story was of special interest to me because I was along the day he took what seemed a sad ride to Chishawasha and then he had the joyous reunion with a cousin. Here Amos' story:
All About Myself
My name is Amos Chindalo. I'm 13 years old and in grade 7. The name of my school is the Colin B. Glassco Primary School.
My mother's name was Veronica Tembo. She died when I was 11 years old. She was 31 years old.
My father's name was Paul Chindalo. He also died when I was 11 and was 31 years old when he died.
In my family, we were two, my sister and I. My sister died before I was born so I am alone. I feel bad because all my family is gone.
After the death of my parents, I went to live with my grandmother. She sent me to a school called ZOCS. I started my grade one. I was there up to the 6th grade. Grandma later heard bout the Colin G. Glassco Primary School. She brought me here. I was put in grade four because I couldn't read. Today I am in grade seven and I read and write well.
My favorite subjects are R.E. (Religious Educ.), math, English, science and social studies.
My hobbies are reading, playing football and praying.
When I grow up, I want to be a pilot. I want to be a pilot because I want to help passengers to travel from one country to another. I would also like to be a pilot because I want to know many countries, how they look and how big are the oceans and how it feels to fly in the air.
I will work hard so that I become a pilot. And I should know how to operate many things and must know many tribes. I think it will be better for me. And I must look smart and be careful for my batteries in the airplane. And one more thing to be a pilot, you must be intelligent.
* * * * * *
All About Myself
My name is Boston Lupupa. I was born in 1996 in Northern Province, District Mpika, Chief Luehembe. My mother left when I was very small and I don't know her years.
About my parents, my father was a fisherman. One day, while he was at the river, he was beaten and he came back sick and died. My father's parents thought that my mother's parents were responsible for my father's death. They bribed someone who was a witch, by giving him goats. He witched my grandparents. They didn't recover. They were brought home and an African medicine was tried but they never got well. They both died. After a month of their deaths, my mother got sick too and died. My parents had two boys and one girl. We were taken on by my uncle, who was just a young boy and he is still very young.
He left the village and came to Lusaka with us in 2002. He put us in school but he had to struggle mostly to feed us because he had no job. Luckily after some years he heard about this school and brought me here. I am lucky because the school provides everything for me. I am doing well. I hope to pass my examination. And when I finish my education, I want to go back to my village to see my sister and my aunties.
* * * * * * *
All About Myself
My name is Rachael Chibuyo. I am 14 and in grade seven. My favorite subjects are English, social studies, and science. When I grow up I want to be a journalist. I live in Chishawasha and my teacher's name is Ms Mwanza.
My hobbies are singing, reading, playing with friends and listening to music. I am very kind to many people. I love ppeople and I like laughting with people.
My mum was Salome. My aunt tells me that my mum and dad were good people, if someone in her family needed help, she would help. It make me happy to know that my mum and dad were kind people. They died when I was very small.
My brothers are Ali and Mula. My sister is Ngoi. My grandmother died in 2004 when I was alreaday here. She wasa a good woman.
* * * * * * *
About Myself
My name is Joshua Banda. I am 13 years old. I was born in 1996. I am in grade 7. I learn at Colin B Glassco Primary School. I was boorn in Kabwe.
My mother's name was Kabaso Bwalya. When she died I was 4 years old. My father's name was Joshua Banda. He died when I was 5. When my parents died, my grand mother took me from Kabwe to Lusaka. I stayed for 2 years without going to school Then someone came to our home and asked my gradnmother if she kept orphans, and she said yes. This lady brought me here. I Then starte my grade 4. I am very happy to be here.
* * * * * * * *
About Myself
My name is Mathews Mbewe. I am in and I go to Chishawasha.
My father's name was Patrick. He died in 1994 and left my mother pregnant. My mother's name was Miriam. After some months mum gave birth. After a year whe died. When we lost both parents, we were then taken by my uncle who later died too. We had no one to take us to school; we were just home and getting older. My aunt then heard abaout Chishawasha. She brought us here. We were too old to Start grade 1. I was 13 years old and my brother was 8. We were put in grade four. It was very difficult. The teacher had to fgive us grade one work.
Today I am very happy, I can now understand some of the things I learn. My teacher says I've made great improvement. I thank the owner of the school, my aunt who brought me here and my teacher Ms Mwanza. I pray for them every day. I will never forget them.
* * * * * * *
This is Sam Weeks blog pressing out of Africa (7th grade).
Friday, May 29, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Sometimes a muzungu is just a muzungu,
but sometimes he is a 'white person'.
A few years ago, I saw a large "For Whites Only" sign atop a bus in Lusaka. Took me a moment to realize it was a soap advisement. However, in the Post Office one day two women were complaining about the service they weren't getting. I wound up defending the PO employee. "Well, this is the reason you don't complain," said one holding her dark arm next to my pale one. They felt they were being discriminated against, and I was getting good service because I was white. There have been no other such incidents in all my months here.
Then last Saturday, Phillip and I were returning the large tent we had borrowed from the Zambian Air Force. When we arrived at the facility, Phillip went in the large guard house complex and was gone for about 10 minutes, he came back out and we sat for another 10 minutes. Finally a female officier emerged and looked us over as she slowly approached. Going to Phillip's side of the vehicle. "You didn't tell me you had a white person with you," she says.
So there I was, not a muzungu, which I prefer, but a white person. She didn't ask if I were Zambian, but was directed to a bench where I could wait for Phillip to return.
I should say the reverse happened at the US Embassy where on my first visit I had gone with Phillip to register. Phillip was directed by a Zambian employee to leave, with a 'get out' tone in his voice.
This Weeks' Interview:
Lazarous Mwale, age 16.
Lazarous became a special friend of mine on my last visit. He seemed to attach himself to me and was always ready to have something read to him. He and I didn't communicate well, he had a limited vocabulary in English and I had none in Nyanja. I often wondered what stories he most liked, until I realized he didn't care what I read, it was just 'the reading' he liked.
He was about 13 then and a 3 year resident of the orphanage. At times I could see he was hurting, staring off, focused on nothing with a forlorn look on his face. Questions as to how he was feeling or if there was anything that would make him feel better, or was there anything he would want to talk about, got no answer. I think Phillip said he had no more success than I. So at those times, I would just sit beside him for whatever time I had.
He would sometimes accompany me on my walks and it was in that way I learned something of his background, such as that he was raised in a village before moving to Lusaka. I've mention before that he would be distressed when the boys (without a village background) would chase the stray cows off our property by throwing rocks at them. He knew that cows were valuable and to be treated with respect.
Lazarous is in the 7th grade, a lanky shy fellow who is apt to look at the ground for a moment when addressed. His hobbies are reading, football and taking walks. One day he would like to be a pilot in the Zambian Air Force. He knows that he will have to first enter the army and then be chosen for training and duty in the Air Force.
His happiest time at Chishawasha was just last Friday at the Official Opening.
His saddest occasion here was when he learned of the death of his aunt (mother's sister). He had lived with her for a time.
What changes have you seen in your time here? The buildings, school, and the gardens are much bigger. The houses and the school are the biggest change.
What do you l like best here? The school.
What things would you change: I would make a new pitch [old one was put out of action by the new electric fence], and build more houses.
Relatives? I have no relatives here but I have an uncle and cousins I can visit in Lusaka. I have an older sister I have not visited in the village.
Friends? I have friends in Lusaka that I know from my visits there, as well as friends from church and here.
What would life be like if you had not come here? I would not have learned all that I have learned here. I may have gotten some school but nothing like this we have. Living with my aunt was not all bad.
What would you wish to find in the next container? Lots of books, lots of school things (supplies), and clothes.
What would you do if you had the money? Build houses for those who have none, for those in need, like we do here.
Any memories to share from your past? I had lived with my mother and father in the village, when my father died, I went to Lusaka to live with my aunt. K remember my parents. I was too young to go to school at that time.
Can you keep in touch with your siblings? My uncle who lives in Eastern Prov. tells me about how they are.
Anything else you'd like to say? I would like to know about you who read this.
A little thing, or is it?
Nshima (cooked maize meal) is served with every supper and sometimes lunch. These is this large white mound on about 1/3 of your plate, somewhat reminiscent of mashed potatoes, although much more resistant. You can easily cut portions with your fork. Zambians often serve a little meat with this and it comes with a small serving of 'soup' (gravy) which is always put on your meat.
It seemed like such a small thing to me, not the least unreasonable, to have my 'soup' served on my nshima just like gravy on mashed potatoes. When being served I have adroitly shifted plate to get the gravy where I wanted it, no luck. Seemed I only trained the server to be more observant. I have forcibly grabbed a young girl's arm who was serving me to direct the 'soup' nshima-ward, but without success, but did manage to cause some annoyance.
Last night when one of the boys was serving, I all but cried in my request for this special consideration. I won! But before the blessing, mother, at the other end of the table, spotted this unfortunate nshima and was directing one of the kids to remove the contaminated serving and give me a fresh one. I was able to thwart this without upseting the table. I can only guess at the level of offense I caused the others at that meal.
Well, the proper way to eat nshima is with your hands, not a fork. If you were picking up your nshima and rolling it into a ball, you would not want it covered with oily gravy. You daintily dip your balled nshima into the 'soup' before eating it. Pristine, white nshima is appetizing but not a serving covered with 'soup'. Some little things are much bigger than you could imagine.
This a more culture conscious Sam, blog pressing out of Africa.
A few years ago, I saw a large "For Whites Only" sign atop a bus in Lusaka. Took me a moment to realize it was a soap advisement. However, in the Post Office one day two women were complaining about the service they weren't getting. I wound up defending the PO employee. "Well, this is the reason you don't complain," said one holding her dark arm next to my pale one. They felt they were being discriminated against, and I was getting good service because I was white. There have been no other such incidents in all my months here.
Then last Saturday, Phillip and I were returning the large tent we had borrowed from the Zambian Air Force. When we arrived at the facility, Phillip went in the large guard house complex and was gone for about 10 minutes, he came back out and we sat for another 10 minutes. Finally a female officier emerged and looked us over as she slowly approached. Going to Phillip's side of the vehicle. "You didn't tell me you had a white person with you," she says.
So there I was, not a muzungu, which I prefer, but a white person. She didn't ask if I were Zambian, but was directed to a bench where I could wait for Phillip to return.
I should say the reverse happened at the US Embassy where on my first visit I had gone with Phillip to register. Phillip was directed by a Zambian employee to leave, with a 'get out' tone in his voice.
This Weeks' Interview:
Lazarous Mwale, age 16.
Lazarous became a special friend of mine on my last visit. He seemed to attach himself to me and was always ready to have something read to him. He and I didn't communicate well, he had a limited vocabulary in English and I had none in Nyanja. I often wondered what stories he most liked, until I realized he didn't care what I read, it was just 'the reading' he liked.
He was about 13 then and a 3 year resident of the orphanage. At times I could see he was hurting, staring off, focused on nothing with a forlorn look on his face. Questions as to how he was feeling or if there was anything that would make him feel better, or was there anything he would want to talk about, got no answer. I think Phillip said he had no more success than I. So at those times, I would just sit beside him for whatever time I had.
He would sometimes accompany me on my walks and it was in that way I learned something of his background, such as that he was raised in a village before moving to Lusaka. I've mention before that he would be distressed when the boys (without a village background) would chase the stray cows off our property by throwing rocks at them. He knew that cows were valuable and to be treated with respect.
Lazarous is in the 7th grade, a lanky shy fellow who is apt to look at the ground for a moment when addressed. His hobbies are reading, football and taking walks. One day he would like to be a pilot in the Zambian Air Force. He knows that he will have to first enter the army and then be chosen for training and duty in the Air Force.
His happiest time at Chishawasha was just last Friday at the Official Opening.
His saddest occasion here was when he learned of the death of his aunt (mother's sister). He had lived with her for a time.
What changes have you seen in your time here? The buildings, school, and the gardens are much bigger. The houses and the school are the biggest change.
What do you l like best here? The school.
What things would you change: I would make a new pitch [old one was put out of action by the new electric fence], and build more houses.
Relatives? I have no relatives here but I have an uncle and cousins I can visit in Lusaka. I have an older sister I have not visited in the village.
Friends? I have friends in Lusaka that I know from my visits there, as well as friends from church and here.
What would life be like if you had not come here? I would not have learned all that I have learned here. I may have gotten some school but nothing like this we have. Living with my aunt was not all bad.
What would you wish to find in the next container? Lots of books, lots of school things (supplies), and clothes.
What would you do if you had the money? Build houses for those who have none, for those in need, like we do here.
Any memories to share from your past? I had lived with my mother and father in the village, when my father died, I went to Lusaka to live with my aunt. K remember my parents. I was too young to go to school at that time.
Can you keep in touch with your siblings? My uncle who lives in Eastern Prov. tells me about how they are.
Anything else you'd like to say? I would like to know about you who read this.
A little thing, or is it?
Nshima (cooked maize meal) is served with every supper and sometimes lunch. These is this large white mound on about 1/3 of your plate, somewhat reminiscent of mashed potatoes, although much more resistant. You can easily cut portions with your fork. Zambians often serve a little meat with this and it comes with a small serving of 'soup' (gravy) which is always put on your meat.
It seemed like such a small thing to me, not the least unreasonable, to have my 'soup' served on my nshima just like gravy on mashed potatoes. When being served I have adroitly shifted plate to get the gravy where I wanted it, no luck. Seemed I only trained the server to be more observant. I have forcibly grabbed a young girl's arm who was serving me to direct the 'soup' nshima-ward, but without success, but did manage to cause some annoyance.
Last night when one of the boys was serving, I all but cried in my request for this special consideration. I won! But before the blessing, mother, at the other end of the table, spotted this unfortunate nshima and was directing one of the kids to remove the contaminated serving and give me a fresh one. I was able to thwart this without upseting the table. I can only guess at the level of offense I caused the others at that meal.
Well, the proper way to eat nshima is with your hands, not a fork. If you were picking up your nshima and rolling it into a ball, you would not want it covered with oily gravy. You daintily dip your balled nshima into the 'soup' before eating it. Pristine, white nshima is appetizing but not a serving covered with 'soup'. Some little things are much bigger than you could imagine.
This a more culture conscious Sam, blog pressing out of Africa.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
The Official Opening
About 7 on the bright sunny morning of the event, I went over to the school to see what was going on. This was the location of most that would be happening. A large tent was being put up in the play ground for the visitors but it was covering most of the area where we'd planned for the children to sit and perform. So when Ms Mwanza, the school manager, and the other teachers arrived, we made some quick changes which had the benefit (later) of putting more of the students in the shade during a long hot afternoon. We had not only a large tent for visitors, but also a smaller one for dignitaries.
The MC duties were handled nicely by Bishop Eddy Mulenga, the only complaint was that all his jokes were of the pulpit-tested variety
Jenny Liva as Board Chair made some welcoming remarks. In addition in her role as Chair of Refreshments, she and her chef from Protea Lodge provided wonderful food, I am told (our guests ate what they could and carried off the rest). None of the staff or students got any. Seems the quality of our guests (many were neighbors and guardians or parents of our local students) did not match up with that of the finger food provided. I witnessed one enthusiastic woman jerk out one of the paper doilies from under a plate of little sandwiches and proceed to use it as a plate to carry away as many as she could make it hold.
In planning this function several references were made to the nature of what was to be served. Phillip asked me, "What's finger food?" I started to explain its food you eat with your fingers-- a totally ridiculous definition, since all Zambian food is eaten with your fingers. "A snack, not a meal. Okay."
What all happened? Well the school was named for Colin Glassco to honor him and his foundation for financing it as well as several houses.
In addition I have vivid memories of children singing with full-throated voices, warm, rich harmony and African rhythm; tear raising recitations; adult professional performers of drummers and dancers, men leaping with vibrant and vibrating women; and speeches by dignitaries: Her Royal Highness Chieftainess Mungule (of her tribe and a geographic area, this is not simple!), the Honorable Deputy Minister Friday Mulwa (who came, but not on schedule), Foreign Service Officer from the US Embassy and former teacher, Malia Heroux, and Colin Glassco, Kathe Padilla and Phillip Mvula. There was no shortage of spoken words, but they we not all empty rhetoric. A request as made for more land for a high school and all the personages were present to make that decision and all were in agreement, the exact parcel of land to be announced later. Nothing like that could happen in the US, instant, on-site governmental action. There were other dignitaries but they didn't speak.
The ribbon cuttings opened the school and the houses followed by tours. The function was scheduled to run from 1:45 to 4 pm. It ran from 2 pm till sunset.
I had the opportunity to met some of the guardians of my students.
This Weeks' Interview:
Nicolas Banda, age 14, in the 7th Grade.
When I first met Nicolas 3 years ago, he was a quiet retiring, conscientious student who did his work by himself. His goal then was to be a preacher and from his manor seemed to be half way there. His Bible was his primary reference book. I could always call on him for a prayer and he seemed happy to oblige.
Some changes have taken place in the ensuing years as I learned when starting Writers' Club. The main question he and the other 4 boys wanted to discuss at the first meeting was "How do you talk to girls?" Spiritual maters had been forgotten or waylaid.
He was 8 years old when he came to Chishawasha.
His hobbies: Football and studying.
His goal: He wants to be a footballer when he grows up. Any ideas how you can make that happen? I've got to work hard at school to start.
Your happiest time at Chishawasha: When I first came here.
Your saddest time: When I quarreled with friends. (residents)
Changes you have seen: Many houses have been built since we moved from Olympia in Lusaka. We came by bus to our first house here which was still not completed.
What do you like best? School.
Like least? Playing sports other than football.
What would you like to change? I wouldn't change anything.
Relatives here or nearby? Yes, I have Charles here, my younger brother and Annette (see earlier interview), my older sister. I have an older brother and aunt that I can visit.
What would life have been like without Chishawasha? I couldn't have gone to school. I would have been passed around among my relatives, it would not have been very comfortable.
My father died when I was two, I don't remember him. My first memories are of my grandparents, they raised me. They were still alive when I came to Chishawasha. I came from Lusaka, but the years with my grandparents were in a village.
What would you like to find in the next container? Shoes, soccer shoes, clothes and football (soccer) pads.
If you had the money, what would you do? I'd buy myself a home and cars. Then I would build an orphanage like this one.
This is Sam blog pressing out of Africa.
The MC duties were handled nicely by Bishop Eddy Mulenga, the only complaint was that all his jokes were of the pulpit-tested variety
Jenny Liva as Board Chair made some welcoming remarks. In addition in her role as Chair of Refreshments, she and her chef from Protea Lodge provided wonderful food, I am told (our guests ate what they could and carried off the rest). None of the staff or students got any. Seems the quality of our guests (many were neighbors and guardians or parents of our local students) did not match up with that of the finger food provided. I witnessed one enthusiastic woman jerk out one of the paper doilies from under a plate of little sandwiches and proceed to use it as a plate to carry away as many as she could make it hold.
In planning this function several references were made to the nature of what was to be served. Phillip asked me, "What's finger food?" I started to explain its food you eat with your fingers-- a totally ridiculous definition, since all Zambian food is eaten with your fingers. "A snack, not a meal. Okay."
What all happened? Well the school was named for Colin Glassco to honor him and his foundation for financing it as well as several houses.
In addition I have vivid memories of children singing with full-throated voices, warm, rich harmony and African rhythm; tear raising recitations; adult professional performers of drummers and dancers, men leaping with vibrant and vibrating women; and speeches by dignitaries: Her Royal Highness Chieftainess Mungule (of her tribe and a geographic area, this is not simple!), the Honorable Deputy Minister Friday Mulwa (who came, but not on schedule), Foreign Service Officer from the US Embassy and former teacher, Malia Heroux, and Colin Glassco, Kathe Padilla and Phillip Mvula. There was no shortage of spoken words, but they we not all empty rhetoric. A request as made for more land for a high school and all the personages were present to make that decision and all were in agreement, the exact parcel of land to be announced later. Nothing like that could happen in the US, instant, on-site governmental action. There were other dignitaries but they didn't speak.
The ribbon cuttings opened the school and the houses followed by tours. The function was scheduled to run from 1:45 to 4 pm. It ran from 2 pm till sunset.
I had the opportunity to met some of the guardians of my students.
This Weeks' Interview:
Nicolas Banda, age 14, in the 7th Grade.
When I first met Nicolas 3 years ago, he was a quiet retiring, conscientious student who did his work by himself. His goal then was to be a preacher and from his manor seemed to be half way there. His Bible was his primary reference book. I could always call on him for a prayer and he seemed happy to oblige.
Some changes have taken place in the ensuing years as I learned when starting Writers' Club. The main question he and the other 4 boys wanted to discuss at the first meeting was "How do you talk to girls?" Spiritual maters had been forgotten or waylaid.
He was 8 years old when he came to Chishawasha.
His hobbies: Football and studying.
His goal: He wants to be a footballer when he grows up. Any ideas how you can make that happen? I've got to work hard at school to start.
Your happiest time at Chishawasha: When I first came here.
Your saddest time: When I quarreled with friends. (residents)
Changes you have seen: Many houses have been built since we moved from Olympia in Lusaka. We came by bus to our first house here which was still not completed.
What do you like best? School.
Like least? Playing sports other than football.
What would you like to change? I wouldn't change anything.
Relatives here or nearby? Yes, I have Charles here, my younger brother and Annette (see earlier interview), my older sister. I have an older brother and aunt that I can visit.
What would life have been like without Chishawasha? I couldn't have gone to school. I would have been passed around among my relatives, it would not have been very comfortable.
My father died when I was two, I don't remember him. My first memories are of my grandparents, they raised me. They were still alive when I came to Chishawasha. I came from Lusaka, but the years with my grandparents were in a village.
What would you like to find in the next container? Shoes, soccer shoes, clothes and football (soccer) pads.
If you had the money, what would you do? I'd buy myself a home and cars. Then I would build an orphanage like this one.
This is Sam blog pressing out of Africa.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Colin and Debbie leave, Kathe arrives
Colin Glassco and Debbie Norman no sooner left than Kathe Padilla arrives--by cab! There was some confusion regarding her arrival date and no one met her at the airport. Despite the method of arrival, she still came with a truckload of ideas. (See next)
Chishawasha Enterprises
Kathe has plans for a string of businesses in Zambia to help support our work here and to provide work opportunities for our kids. With this in mind, she asked one of our former students, Florence, who seems just a bit adrift right now, if she would like a job in a store. With answer to the affirmative, this teacher is working with her on her math, change making and customer service skills.
Prep for Official Opening
We're cleaning everything. Everyone was out doing something by way of cleaning or removing rocks; I and 4 very enthusiastic kids went at the perimeter of the school yard. We collected 2 wheelbarrows of junk and some building materials. Some was from the workmen who'd lived on premises and cooked their meals on the edge of our yard. Much was from the kids. We worked hard with only one brief detour. As we moved methodically around the yard we came to some heavy brush. Three of my four assistants saw 'something' deep in the bush and eagerly scampered off, almost out of sight. There was no garbage; it was the chinga-chinga berries that are ripe just now and a powerful lure away from any work (anything). I called them back without success. Finally I was forced to use my deterrent of last resort on the fugitives. I blew on my sports whistle (loud enough to hurt my ears). It stopped them in their tracks and they returned sheepishly. I have no idea what gave this whistle that authority it has but then I don't question things too closely as long as they work.
School starts again, new student, old tricks and a box solution:
New classes, new students to work with, 5th and 6th grades. They seem a sharp bunch with all the characters that you could imagine in a group of 18 children and an especially wide range of heights, the tallest being more than twice as tall as the shortest. Then we got a brand new student, Mercy Banda (she is not related to our other Banda's nor to Samuel Banda of the Zambian Soccer team, its a common name.) To welcome Mercy into the class, coming with nothing, I gave her a new pencil and a rub (eraser) and a ruler, much to the envy of the rest of the class. A loud collective sigh as if rehearsed could be heard. Each of them had been working on me for a ruler, a rub or a pencil only because Ms Mwanza saw to it that I got a regular table for my 'desk' and promptly removed the old small table (with a drawer). Now without a drawer, all the supplies were laid out for everyone to see and handle and covet. If the teacher has pencils, you must have one, even if you have to hide those you have or generously loan them to others. "Teacher, teacher, I don't have a pencil." This is heard when you start a project and if you are dumb enough to fall for that, then half of the class is magically pencil-less. Half the period can be spent getting everyone a pencil and trying to figure out what they were using in the period just before. And then, "Teacher, teacher, I don't have a sharpener." By the time everyone is ready, you have just time to introduce the topic and the class is over. No one can sharpen a pencil as slowly and thoughtfully as a Zambian school child. Each is a connoisseur of a fine point.
I came home from school and found a rare cardboard box of which I took control, it will be my supply cabinet into which only my eyes and hands will be allowed and from which this tight old teacher will carefully mete out what is truly needed.
This Weeks' Interview:
Monica Phiri is 14 years old and has been here for 5 years. She is in the 6th grade. I remember her from my first visit 3 years ago, when she was an inquisitive, lanky tom-boy who could out-jump any of the boys on sports day and god knows they tried (for a while) then no one challenged her.
Today she is much more lady-like but still a teenage, not into competing with boys.
I have now had the pleasure of being her teacher. If anyone knows the answer to a question, she does. She is alert, but will soon pull a book out into her lap and start reading if this teacher isn't holding her interest sufficiently, thinking that he won't notice.
Her hobbies are singing, reading, African dancing, cooking, sewing and plaiting (hair).
Her dream is to become a doctor and work with orphans.
Her happiest memory here is when her younger sister came to join us a couple years ago.
She couldn't easily come up with a saddest memory while at Chishawasha.
What changes have you seen at Chishawasha? Well they have done everything for me. Oh, and there are all those new houses and more visitors. I enjoy the visitors.
What do you like best? The education.
What do you like least? [long pause] "The dishes?" I suggest. Yes, doing dishes.
Do you have relatives besides Tiness, your sister? Yes, my grandmother and grandfather.
Do you have friends outside Chishawasha? No.
What do you know or remember of your life before you came here? I know when my mother died, I was one year old and my grandmother took care of me. My earliest memories are of her. When I was 6, she had a stroke and I had to take care of her. I had to do everything to support her. There was not much money. It was through the Catholic Church that I got to Chishawasha.
What would you wish to find in the next container? Some DVD's, some movies.
If you had the money, what would you but or do with it? I'd buy a house and clothes for my grandmother and grandfather and others that I know.
New House Start:
The block press is going again and in use more hours than the sun shines, over 900 block made in one day. All this as a prelude to house SEVEN again thanks to Colin Glassco.
This is Sam blog pressing out of Africa
Chishawasha Enterprises
Kathe has plans for a string of businesses in Zambia to help support our work here and to provide work opportunities for our kids. With this in mind, she asked one of our former students, Florence, who seems just a bit adrift right now, if she would like a job in a store. With answer to the affirmative, this teacher is working with her on her math, change making and customer service skills.
Prep for Official Opening
We're cleaning everything. Everyone was out doing something by way of cleaning or removing rocks; I and 4 very enthusiastic kids went at the perimeter of the school yard. We collected 2 wheelbarrows of junk and some building materials. Some was from the workmen who'd lived on premises and cooked their meals on the edge of our yard. Much was from the kids. We worked hard with only one brief detour. As we moved methodically around the yard we came to some heavy brush. Three of my four assistants saw 'something' deep in the bush and eagerly scampered off, almost out of sight. There was no garbage; it was the chinga-chinga berries that are ripe just now and a powerful lure away from any work (anything). I called them back without success. Finally I was forced to use my deterrent of last resort on the fugitives. I blew on my sports whistle (loud enough to hurt my ears). It stopped them in their tracks and they returned sheepishly. I have no idea what gave this whistle that authority it has but then I don't question things too closely as long as they work.
School starts again, new student, old tricks and a box solution:
New classes, new students to work with, 5th and 6th grades. They seem a sharp bunch with all the characters that you could imagine in a group of 18 children and an especially wide range of heights, the tallest being more than twice as tall as the shortest. Then we got a brand new student, Mercy Banda (she is not related to our other Banda's nor to Samuel Banda of the Zambian Soccer team, its a common name.) To welcome Mercy into the class, coming with nothing, I gave her a new pencil and a rub (eraser) and a ruler, much to the envy of the rest of the class. A loud collective sigh as if rehearsed could be heard. Each of them had been working on me for a ruler, a rub or a pencil only because Ms Mwanza saw to it that I got a regular table for my 'desk' and promptly removed the old small table (with a drawer). Now without a drawer, all the supplies were laid out for everyone to see and handle and covet. If the teacher has pencils, you must have one, even if you have to hide those you have or generously loan them to others. "Teacher, teacher, I don't have a pencil." This is heard when you start a project and if you are dumb enough to fall for that, then half of the class is magically pencil-less. Half the period can be spent getting everyone a pencil and trying to figure out what they were using in the period just before. And then, "Teacher, teacher, I don't have a sharpener." By the time everyone is ready, you have just time to introduce the topic and the class is over. No one can sharpen a pencil as slowly and thoughtfully as a Zambian school child. Each is a connoisseur of a fine point.
I came home from school and found a rare cardboard box of which I took control, it will be my supply cabinet into which only my eyes and hands will be allowed and from which this tight old teacher will carefully mete out what is truly needed.
This Weeks' Interview:
Monica Phiri is 14 years old and has been here for 5 years. She is in the 6th grade. I remember her from my first visit 3 years ago, when she was an inquisitive, lanky tom-boy who could out-jump any of the boys on sports day and god knows they tried (for a while) then no one challenged her.
Today she is much more lady-like but still a teenage, not into competing with boys.
I have now had the pleasure of being her teacher. If anyone knows the answer to a question, she does. She is alert, but will soon pull a book out into her lap and start reading if this teacher isn't holding her interest sufficiently, thinking that he won't notice.
Her hobbies are singing, reading, African dancing, cooking, sewing and plaiting (hair).
Her dream is to become a doctor and work with orphans.
Her happiest memory here is when her younger sister came to join us a couple years ago.
She couldn't easily come up with a saddest memory while at Chishawasha.
What changes have you seen at Chishawasha? Well they have done everything for me. Oh, and there are all those new houses and more visitors. I enjoy the visitors.
What do you like best? The education.
What do you like least? [long pause] "The dishes?" I suggest. Yes, doing dishes.
Do you have relatives besides Tiness, your sister? Yes, my grandmother and grandfather.
Do you have friends outside Chishawasha? No.
What do you know or remember of your life before you came here? I know when my mother died, I was one year old and my grandmother took care of me. My earliest memories are of her. When I was 6, she had a stroke and I had to take care of her. I had to do everything to support her. There was not much money. It was through the Catholic Church that I got to Chishawasha.
What would you wish to find in the next container? Some DVD's, some movies.
If you had the money, what would you but or do with it? I'd buy a house and clothes for my grandmother and grandfather and others that I know.
New House Start:
The block press is going again and in use more hours than the sun shines, over 900 block made in one day. All this as a prelude to house SEVEN again thanks to Colin Glassco.
This is Sam blog pressing out of Africa
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Whirl Wind Visit
You daily do your job and surely the folk you work with are appreciative, but it is your job. Your routine and regular problems tend to keep the mind busy. Then you get a visit from Colin Glassco and Debbie Norman from Canada and the Glassco Foundation, our major contributor. Colin never stands still; he is always leaning hard towards his next appointment. His time is measured against a formidible list of things that must be done. As he says there is a good portionof his head labeled, Donor. His purpose is to see that contributors get an almost first hand view of what their money has done and is doing. As we are touring our facility, Colin is reviewing the rest of the day with Debbie and you can feel his day and your part in it. Cameras, video and still, record where we are with each of those funded projects. All this gets you looking at your everyday routine as something much larger and worthy of inspection and come with an overwhelming gratefyllness for the faith and generosity of Colin and others thousands of miles away.
For such an exhilarating, it was not without its problems which seem almost humorous now. It started when Phillip arrived on foot in the morning. He explained that the large lock we bought yesterday for the new front gate did not seem to work with the one key that was with it. Unable to unlock the gate, he left his car and climb over it. He retrieved the extra keys that had come with the lock, at least one of which worked and our day was started. But there was to be one more 'key' problem. Phillip had in this 'timed' visit managed to work out a surprise for our guest, lunch at Portea Lodge and a chance for Colin to and the chair of our board, Jenny Liva, to meet. She runs the lodge so it would be about the only way for them to get together. Everything was going smoothly right up to the surprise. We had gotten in the van and about to drive off, except the ignition key would not turn, the mechanism had frozen up. The fact that the Glassco Foundation had purchased this vehicle only added to the uncomfortableness of the situation. The clock seemed like an inevitable steam roller pressing the rest of the day flat. I have no idea how long we 'played' with that key and ignition, was it hours? Debbie and Colin, seasoned travelers were used to dealing with unexpected delays. But finally Phillip's car returned from its errands. A quick check or the schedule revealed that we could still make it if we persevered and se did. Wonderful meal, Jenny a gracious hostess, and back on time (give or take 5 minutes) to the hotel in Lusaka.
New Month: A new house on my monthly meal rotation:
You have to 'learn' a new house; each has a different feel, different rules, and different expectations of the guest.
Things you would notice as a first-time guest in any of the houses: You are the first to be seated, generally at the head of the table. Water is brought for you to wash your hands (soap and towel may be included). You are served first. Once in your chair, you do not rise for anything that anyone else could possibly do for you, until the meal is over. Things brought to you like a fork may come by way of a child with a respectful kneel. You are the only one with knife and fork. You will have your own private water pitcher and only you will have access to the juice flavoring to put in your water to mask the boiled flavor. Since you are seved first, you have to wait the longest to start eating and only after grace has been said. Most of the conversation at the table will be in Nyanja and thus incomprehensible to you. Some polite coversation will be made from time to time in English. Water to wash may be offered again at the end of the meal. You will be severely questioned if you should take the initiative to say take your dishes out to the kitchen. "Wasn't there a mother or one of the children to do that for you?" At each house I have explained several times that it is nice to be such a pamped guest, but it is even nicer for me to be 'one of the family'. Through improving negotiations, I have gotten the 'Ritz treatment' down to about one night.
Do they know what I like and don't like? They seemed to and it was like this info was passed from house to house along with me. By the time you've gotten to your 4th house, you feel confident. That was until Friday and the first night in house 3, I was being served and I asked what it was (it was not obvious). "Offals" was the answer delivered along with two portion on my plate with the beans and nshima. My mind quickly weighed my alternatives. My stomach was not feeling in an experimental mood (as the day I ate the termites). I didn't want to waste the food so I offered it back apologetically. I had forgotten about offals and had thought that capenta (very small dried fish) was the only dish I didn't care for. Other houses fixed soya bits for me on capenta nights. This was the first meal of offal I had encounted on this visit.
The story reading detail came with me and it was expected after supper. One child brought me a story-picture book to read, lasted only a few minutes and I picked "Charlotte's Web" which we are now well into, with a first night audience of 8.
This Weeks' Interview:
Annette Mwala is 16 and came at age 11 when we were in Lusaka. She is in grade 8 at SOS school.
On my last visit, she was a student of mine and was shy but smart and I would call on her when nobody else knew the answer. She was not quick to raise her hand and she was not altogether comfortable with me as her teacher and would look at me skeptically when I was trying something new. (And she like the others was having difficulty understanding me.) I did not fit her picture of what a teacher should be. I was not Ms Mwanza, whom all the children loved and trusted and never did silly things like this guy. Annette, I would say was always reserved and I never worried about her not doing her own work or cribbing on an exam.
When needing a song, hers was a strong voice which quickly inspirred the others to join in. She was also reliable for a morning prayer. (Yes, we do that here.)
Hobbies: Dancing (African), singing and listening to music (gospel).
Goals: Jouralist or lawyer. She would like to continue her education abroad.
Happiest memories: When her brother Charles came to live here.
Saddest memories: When Mother Alice past away.
Changes at Chishawasha: I speak and understand English. How much did you understand what I said on my first visit? Not a lot. (Ouch! Oh, did I say she was honest?)
Changes in our organization: We are helping a lot more people.
Like best: The teaching, [that is] my education.
Like least or what would I change: (no offering)
Other relatives: I have a cousin here: Nicholas Banda.
Friends outside Chishawasha: Yes at my old school and now at the new one.
What was life like before Chishawasha: No school, nowhere to live, no one to take care of us. Where you taking care of your younger brother at that time? Yes. [She had come originally saying she had no siblings as she check this organization out. Once she determined it was safe, brought her brother in.]
Container wish: Laptop, radio, clothes and shoes.
If you had the money: I'd buy clothes, shoes and yes, a house. If anything happened here, I would have a place to go.
Anything else you'd like to say:
I started out in Lusaka. I remember my parents. My father was a truck driver. Did he ever let you ride in the truck? Yes. He died of T-B when I was 9. My parent divorced when I was 5. My father remarried and my step-mother was bad, she also died when I was was 9. I lost contact with my mother. She remarried, I don't know her name. She had other children. I would like to find my other brothers and sisters, I have tried but so far without success.
Signs of Protea
Our old small sign on the Great North Road will be removed and put at our entrance off Minestone Road. A larger sign will replace it all thanks to Protea Lodge. As Jenny Liva said the original was too small for a fast trafficked highway, hardly readable unless you were looking for it. But it will be just the thing to direct folks into our drive and new gate.
Soccer Report: For the want of a shoe...
A couple of times last week around 4 pm, I went for an amble and wound up following the noise to the new temporary soccer pitch at the end of the school.
So much energy dissipated in those last two hours before the sun went down. Hard playing and including many of the younger boys, some of whom could mix it up with the oldest twice their height. Boys played to exhaustion, bent over to catch their breath and then got at it again.
What most caught my attention was their foot gear or lack of it. Many went barefoot, although much of the pitch is hard packed clay there are plentiful stones of various sizes. John, one of our best players, was wearing sandal. I told him that I was sure this was illegal since every time he kicked the ball wih any force the others had to not only watch where the ball was going, but also had o follow the trajectory of his sandal to keep from being hit. Wisedom was playing with one knee length red sock on withsomething wrapped round his ankle beneath it. Siva was playing with one (winter) boot. You would have no problem counting the toes of most players, shoe or no. Needless to say, none had soccer shoes. It was painful for me walking back with them in the on-coming darkness. They were limping and wobbling like old soldiers fresh from a campaign.
It just so happened that yesterday was 'shoe day' at the warehouse and I attended to see if anyone was getting soccer shoes. There were none. Some of the shoes were sports shoes, but most were in such good condition that they wouldn't get near the ptich for at least 6 months and as many toes showing.
Knowing about this blog, John asked me to make soccer shoe appeal and I just did.
This is Shoeless Sam blog pressing out of Africa.
For such an exhilarating, it was not without its problems which seem almost humorous now. It started when Phillip arrived on foot in the morning. He explained that the large lock we bought yesterday for the new front gate did not seem to work with the one key that was with it. Unable to unlock the gate, he left his car and climb over it. He retrieved the extra keys that had come with the lock, at least one of which worked and our day was started. But there was to be one more 'key' problem. Phillip had in this 'timed' visit managed to work out a surprise for our guest, lunch at Portea Lodge and a chance for Colin to and the chair of our board, Jenny Liva, to meet. She runs the lodge so it would be about the only way for them to get together. Everything was going smoothly right up to the surprise. We had gotten in the van and about to drive off, except the ignition key would not turn, the mechanism had frozen up. The fact that the Glassco Foundation had purchased this vehicle only added to the uncomfortableness of the situation. The clock seemed like an inevitable steam roller pressing the rest of the day flat. I have no idea how long we 'played' with that key and ignition, was it hours? Debbie and Colin, seasoned travelers were used to dealing with unexpected delays. But finally Phillip's car returned from its errands. A quick check or the schedule revealed that we could still make it if we persevered and se did. Wonderful meal, Jenny a gracious hostess, and back on time (give or take 5 minutes) to the hotel in Lusaka.
New Month: A new house on my monthly meal rotation:
You have to 'learn' a new house; each has a different feel, different rules, and different expectations of the guest.
Things you would notice as a first-time guest in any of the houses: You are the first to be seated, generally at the head of the table. Water is brought for you to wash your hands (soap and towel may be included). You are served first. Once in your chair, you do not rise for anything that anyone else could possibly do for you, until the meal is over. Things brought to you like a fork may come by way of a child with a respectful kneel. You are the only one with knife and fork. You will have your own private water pitcher and only you will have access to the juice flavoring to put in your water to mask the boiled flavor. Since you are seved first, you have to wait the longest to start eating and only after grace has been said. Most of the conversation at the table will be in Nyanja and thus incomprehensible to you. Some polite coversation will be made from time to time in English. Water to wash may be offered again at the end of the meal. You will be severely questioned if you should take the initiative to say take your dishes out to the kitchen. "Wasn't there a mother or one of the children to do that for you?" At each house I have explained several times that it is nice to be such a pamped guest, but it is even nicer for me to be 'one of the family'. Through improving negotiations, I have gotten the 'Ritz treatment' down to about one night.
Do they know what I like and don't like? They seemed to and it was like this info was passed from house to house along with me. By the time you've gotten to your 4th house, you feel confident. That was until Friday and the first night in house 3, I was being served and I asked what it was (it was not obvious). "Offals" was the answer delivered along with two portion on my plate with the beans and nshima. My mind quickly weighed my alternatives. My stomach was not feeling in an experimental mood (as the day I ate the termites). I didn't want to waste the food so I offered it back apologetically. I had forgotten about offals and had thought that capenta (very small dried fish) was the only dish I didn't care for. Other houses fixed soya bits for me on capenta nights. This was the first meal of offal I had encounted on this visit.
The story reading detail came with me and it was expected after supper. One child brought me a story-picture book to read, lasted only a few minutes and I picked "Charlotte's Web" which we are now well into, with a first night audience of 8.
This Weeks' Interview:
Annette Mwala is 16 and came at age 11 when we were in Lusaka. She is in grade 8 at SOS school.
On my last visit, she was a student of mine and was shy but smart and I would call on her when nobody else knew the answer. She was not quick to raise her hand and she was not altogether comfortable with me as her teacher and would look at me skeptically when I was trying something new. (And she like the others was having difficulty understanding me.) I did not fit her picture of what a teacher should be. I was not Ms Mwanza, whom all the children loved and trusted and never did silly things like this guy. Annette, I would say was always reserved and I never worried about her not doing her own work or cribbing on an exam.
When needing a song, hers was a strong voice which quickly inspirred the others to join in. She was also reliable for a morning prayer. (Yes, we do that here.)
Hobbies: Dancing (African), singing and listening to music (gospel).
Goals: Jouralist or lawyer. She would like to continue her education abroad.
Happiest memories: When her brother Charles came to live here.
Saddest memories: When Mother Alice past away.
Changes at Chishawasha: I speak and understand English. How much did you understand what I said on my first visit? Not a lot. (Ouch! Oh, did I say she was honest?)
Changes in our organization: We are helping a lot more people.
Like best: The teaching, [that is] my education.
Like least or what would I change: (no offering)
Other relatives: I have a cousin here: Nicholas Banda.
Friends outside Chishawasha: Yes at my old school and now at the new one.
What was life like before Chishawasha: No school, nowhere to live, no one to take care of us. Where you taking care of your younger brother at that time? Yes. [She had come originally saying she had no siblings as she check this organization out. Once she determined it was safe, brought her brother in.]
Container wish: Laptop, radio, clothes and shoes.
If you had the money: I'd buy clothes, shoes and yes, a house. If anything happened here, I would have a place to go.
Anything else you'd like to say:
I started out in Lusaka. I remember my parents. My father was a truck driver. Did he ever let you ride in the truck? Yes. He died of T-B when I was 9. My parent divorced when I was 5. My father remarried and my step-mother was bad, she also died when I was was 9. I lost contact with my mother. She remarried, I don't know her name. She had other children. I would like to find my other brothers and sisters, I have tried but so far without success.
Signs of Protea
Our old small sign on the Great North Road will be removed and put at our entrance off Minestone Road. A larger sign will replace it all thanks to Protea Lodge. As Jenny Liva said the original was too small for a fast trafficked highway, hardly readable unless you were looking for it. But it will be just the thing to direct folks into our drive and new gate.
Soccer Report: For the want of a shoe...
A couple of times last week around 4 pm, I went for an amble and wound up following the noise to the new temporary soccer pitch at the end of the school.
So much energy dissipated in those last two hours before the sun went down. Hard playing and including many of the younger boys, some of whom could mix it up with the oldest twice their height. Boys played to exhaustion, bent over to catch their breath and then got at it again.
What most caught my attention was their foot gear or lack of it. Many went barefoot, although much of the pitch is hard packed clay there are plentiful stones of various sizes. John, one of our best players, was wearing sandal. I told him that I was sure this was illegal since every time he kicked the ball wih any force the others had to not only watch where the ball was going, but also had o follow the trajectory of his sandal to keep from being hit. Wisedom was playing with one knee length red sock on withsomething wrapped round his ankle beneath it. Siva was playing with one (winter) boot. You would have no problem counting the toes of most players, shoe or no. Needless to say, none had soccer shoes. It was painful for me walking back with them in the on-coming darkness. They were limping and wobbling like old soldiers fresh from a campaign.
It just so happened that yesterday was 'shoe day' at the warehouse and I attended to see if anyone was getting soccer shoes. There were none. Some of the shoes were sports shoes, but most were in such good condition that they wouldn't get near the ptich for at least 6 months and as many toes showing.
Knowing about this blog, John asked me to make soccer shoe appeal and I just did.
This is Shoeless Sam blog pressing out of Africa.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)